


Traces of You

by messyfeathers



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: A Memory of Europe, And Then Inevitable Heartbreak, Angst, Cute Adventures, Earl Harlan Week, M/M, Re-Education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messyfeathers/pseuds/messyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We could have had something, you and me," Cecil says softly, "and I could have lost all recollection of it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traces of You

The proposal is shaky, to say the least. The words are stuttered and come out mostly backwards, and he hasn’t even been able to afford a ring yet with what little money he makes as a junior leader in the scouts going to their split rent on the tiny apartment they share on the side of Night Vale that is prone to wandering blackouts; but when Earl finally spits out those last few words, Cecil is immediately breathing ‘ _yes_ ’ into his lips and his hair and the rapidly cooling desert night around them. It’s only been eleven months since they’ve started dating, but their relationship goes years back to the very first day they had both been recruited into the boy scouts. Cecil had shown up to the vacant lot behind the Ralph’s that day in a sash already filled with homemade bottlecap badges. The moment he pinned a diet orange soda merit badge (' _for_ _exceptional sock matching!_ ’) on Earl's sash, Earl knew he was a goner. Every year since has just been a prelude to this moment, as he pins the bottlecap back onto Cecil’s shirt collar as a makeshift token and pulls him in for a kiss in that same vacant lot.

Cecil is normally the one who doesn’t mind bending the rules, but it’s Earl who suggests they run away for a while. Marriage in Night Vale is something eternal - a soul-binding contract that not only ties two souls together, but ties them to the town. As it is, they’re both just twenty and eager to see the world beyond the desert. With little thought for consequences, they decide to keep their future plans a secret from the authorities until they get back; and the following night under cover of darkness and with a few tricks learned from their years in the scouts, the two slip away and board a bus headed towards the airport. They don’t even know where they’re going - not really - but it doesn’t matter because for the first time they’re free from the responsibility of internships and leadership training and even free from the town’s prying eyes that watch them every day.

The sunrise on their first morning in the little shack all tucked away between rolling hills is the most beautiful they’ve ever seen. Cecil is not a morning person, but Earl tugs him out of bed specifically so they can climb onto the peeling shingles that compose the ramshackle rooftop of their little lean-to and watch the first golden beams of light warm the frostbitten morning. There is a blissful freedom in being so far from the world they have always known. They spend a week grass staining their knees as they tumble down hills until they collapse into a mess at the bottom. That’s where Earl leans over and impulsively kisses Cecil between the blossoms of violent blue before they climb back up the grassy knolls on the other side. At night they lie on the roof and count the stars, grateful that the void is unable to find them here. And Cecil always gives up counting stars after a while and starts counting Earl’s freckles instead, marking all his favorites with a kiss. He has always been especially fond of a little dense patch just along Earl’s ribcage.

“If you were a dot-to-dot,” Cecil whispers as he traces the imaginary lines with a fingertip, “this would be an elephant,” he finishes with a giggle, going back to lying with his head comfortably tucked against his boyfriend’s chest.

“It would not,” Earl laughs as he brushes his fingers lazily through Cecil’s long, dark hair - though secretly he’s always liked how Cecil finds patterns and meaning even in the messy mundane bits of life. In freckles, in stars, even in the sound of rain. 

It’s raining in the next place they explore. The stone arches are beautiful to look at, tall and impassive as they gracefully swoop against the backdrop of a lavender sunrise. But they’re even more beautiful to listen to. The arches go on for miles, echoing back every sound they have ever heard as a whisper. Sometimes the arches clearly parrot obscenities or nonsense shouted by immature visitors, but other times beautiful secrets entrusted to the arches whisper across the years from travelers who have passed through long before.

It rains in the arches, the rhythmic patter of the raindrops ringing its way through the still air. The sound of the sky conversing with itself as the rain falls amidst the echoes is lilting and hypnotic. That night, in the makeshift shelter of their tent, the two of them share their own secrets with the arches. The next morning as they walk hand-in-hand along a crumbling path, Earl can’t help but blush slightly at a breathy half-formed echo of his name that still reverberates faintly from the night before. Cecil just laughs.

Six days and a train ride later find the two nearly out of what little money they had been able to scrape together for the trip. There is a sad sort of knowledge that the real world looms ever closer, but they do their best to push the idea away as they check in for one last night at a quaint little inn just across the border. The pub where they stop for their last supper abroad is boisterous and alive with light and laughter and foreign words they don’t understand. Cecil loves spending time with people individually, but he’s always struggled in large crowds. Pieces of his past have left him with strange markings that frequently draw prying eyes and gawking stares - even from the generally open-minded folk in Night Vale. Earl knows. Even if Cecil had still never told him _what_ exactly had taken place that one summer when they were younger, they had been best friends all his life. He had watched the changes occur slowly after that, one-by-one, and he knew how to pull his boyfriend from the shaky private corners of his mind where he sometimes retreated. So when Cecil whispers that people are staring, Earl quickly takes his hand and leads him outside where the air is cold enough to show their breath, but the scrutiny of strangers dares not follow. They sit together on a bench too small for two beneath a lonely street lamp, and neither speaks a word until the bus arrives to begin their journey home. Earl swings his pack up on his shoulder and stops with one foot on the step to offer a hand back to Cecil.

“You coming or what?”

“Yeah, I just…Do you ever wish you could freeze a moment forever?” Cecil asks as he slips his own knapsack onto his back and reaches towards Earl’s outstretched hand. 

Earl glances around at the darkening cobblestone street slightly dusted with snow. ”Why would you want to freeze _this_ moment?” 

“Because I think you’re beautiful,” Cecil says quietly as he slips his fingers where they fit naturally like a puzzle between Earl’s.

\--

Night Vale’s city limits have hardly disappeared in the rear view mirror when a Secret Police blockade stops them and motions for Cecil to step out of the car. Obediently, he unbuckles his seatbelt and discreetly unpins the orange soda badge that has taken up permanent residence on his favorite bandana. “I'm sure it's nothing, but better safe than sorry,” he explains.“Wait for me at home,” he instructs with a quick kiss, pressing the pin into Earl’s hand before exiting the car.

Earl doesn’t worry. It isn’t the first time the police have taken one of them; after all - they hadn’t been the most well-behaved teenagers growing up. Cecil is such a smooth talker that he always somehow finds a way to get them both out of trouble. Earl doesn’t worry until midnight comes and the apartment is still too quiet. By the time morning arrives and Cecil still hasn’t come home, worry gives way to a slight panic. Two days later when Earl receives the engagement permits in the mail with no explanation whatsoever, he decides to go looking for Cecil. The search is still only in the beginning stages of planning in his mind as he steps out the door and very unexpectedly and quite literally runs into his now-legal fiancé in the street. Cecil looks none the worse for wear - just as composed and slightly off-beat as ever. Without a thought Earl throws his arms around the man’s neck exhaling his gratitude to every deity he can recall at such short notice. Something is wrong. Where there should be familiar arms, there is a stiffening of tense muscles. Where there should be reassurances that everything will be okay now there is an unusual silence.

“I was so worried about you,” Earl breathes, leaning away enough to look into those strangely beautiful eyes he’s gotten lost in ever since he was fourteen.

Cecil takes a cautious step back. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come off abrupt, but do I know you?”

Earl is frozen, his words requiring deliberate effort to squeeze past his throat. “Cecil, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny.”

Cecil shakes his head in innocence. “No, it isn’t funny at all,” he agrees. “It’s incredibly frustrating in fact. I feel horrible and scattered. I’m sorry. I just got back from an extended trip, you see,” he explains cordially, careful to preserve the distance between them. “I’ve been in Europe actually. I just got home. I haven’t been home in…years it must be now. Everything’s a bit overwhelming and I’m still a bit out of sorts from it all. I guess it’s the time change. Time doesn’t work right outside Night Vale; I’m all confused at how little’s happened in how long I’ve been away,” he finishes with a nervous laugh.

“Y-yeah, the time change,” Earl stumbles as soon as his mouth can form words again. This is all very wrong.

“I’m sure it’ll be better in a few days. I just need to go home and sleep for a long time.” Cecil offers a forced, empty smile as he takes three measured steps towards the sidewalk.

“Where are you going?” Earl’s voice is a hoarse rasp by this point.

“Home,” Cecil repeats uncertainly. “I live a few blocks from here.”

“You live by-by yourself?” Earl manages weakly. Cecil’s expression subtly shifts from confused to suspicious.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he says quickly before walking very deliberately the opposite direction.

_Re-education_. That’s the word Earl hears tossed around by the few Secret Police officers who sympathetically watch him watch Cecil. Apparently this is standard police procedure due to Cecil suggesting to conceal their engagement from authorities - compliant behavior has to be learned _somehow_ after all. Earl wants to speak up - explain why they left, where they went - but he gets the impression that the police already know. He also wants to tell them the truth about whose idea it _really_ was to run away, but the guilty way the officers speak to him leads him to believe they already know that too. “It’s not a permanent erasure of memories,” they assure him. “More of an alteration. Like a pulled muscle,” theychime in falsely cheerful tones. “In a few days the surrounding memories will re-adjust to the new tone. Don’t worry, and do not force it. Let him remember you on his own.” 

The way the officers never bring themselves to look him in the eye makes their advice hard to take. By the end of the next week Earl can’t stand idly by any longer. The show is just ending when he arrives at the station where Cecil’s interning. Cecil doesn’t back away when he sees Earl waiting on the sidewalk outside, which he takes as a good sign. They exchange simple pleasantries - comments on the colors of the sky before the urgency is too much to keep inside.

“Do you know who I am?” Earl asks cautiously. His voice shakes, as well it should since the familiar flicker in Cecil’s eyes has seemingly vanished altogether.

“Of course I know who you are, Earl,” Cecil smiles. Earl feels his heart do a flip as he allows an ember of hope to flicker recklessly. “We were in scouts together when we were kids,” Cecil continues. “How have you been lately?” Earl’s mouth hangs limply for a moment before he bites his lower lip to keep the rush of hurtful questions inside. “I’m sorry I’m the worst at keeping up with people,” Cecil adds apologetically when he sees Earl’s expression. “I’ve always been bad at that.”

“You don’t remember the time we spent together outside the scouts?” Earl asks with a failed attempt at a casual laugh.

“I’m sorry, things are still a little blurry. I got injured on my trip. Rolled down a hill and hit my head pretty bad. Whole bits after that are just black, a lot of things before are fuzzy. But what’s a journey of self-discovery without a few minor cranial traumas, right?” The ember of hope is nearly extinguished, but there’s one more question fighting its way through his lips before he can stop it.

“So you don’t remember the night before you left for Europe then?” It’s the one question he needs to hear the answer to as much as he’s afraid he already knows it.

“No, sorry. Was it something important?” Earl’s head drops, and he has to squint his eyes closed tight to avoid letting any of the hot tears he can feel forming slip out. Cecil rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. They say it should all come back sooner or later. I’ll try to remember, alright?” Earl can’t breathe in enough air to even respond as he watches Cecil drive away. With an aching heart and heavy steps, Earl makes his way back to their little apartment, the torn fragments of their engagement permit left scattered in the sandy lot outside the station.

It’s a long time after that before he stops avoiding Cecil entirely. Even then, their only contact is the occasional handful of snapdragons that Earl leaves on his doorstep because he knows how much Cecil likes the colors - always said they reminded him of wildfires. Days turn into weeks turn into months until one night brings an unexpected bit of hope.

Adjusting to sleeping alone is hard for Earl, but the knocking in the middle of the night still manages to jar him from some restless dream. He opens the door to Cecil, disheveled and still wearing a rumpled intern uniform. “Is something wrong?” Earl asks quietly as he steps out into the hall.

“It’s my memory. It’s you,” Cecil says very quickly. “There are traces of you where they don’t belong. They’re woven in where it makes no sense for you to be.” Earl doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing at all for fear that any hope will be crushed again if he dares to even think of it. “My mind, it’s like there are gaps,” Cecil continues, shutting his eyes tight. “There are fragments I can’t remember, and others I can’t place.” When his eyes finally flutter open again they’re panicked. He takes a step closer to the doorway and studies Earl’s face carefully. “You’re familiar and I wish I knew why. I know we were friends when we were younger, but it’s something else…” Tentatively he reaches out a hand and traces it across the freckles that he used to count into constellations. “We could have had something, you and me, and I could have lost all recollection of it.” Remembering himself, he pulls his hand away too soon. “It’s absolutely terrifying to not know parts of my own past. It’s all fractured, like a broken mirror that I’m slowly piecing back together.” Cecil does something then that Earl hasn’t seen him do since they were children - he cries. Just a single tear, hardly visible in the dingy hall lighting, that slips its way down his cheek quickly. Earl wants so badly to reach out and brush it away, rub his thumb along Cecil’s own patches of dark freckles, pull the man into his arms and hold him until everything is okay again; but their relationship is so tenuous that all he can offer is a quiet whisper.

“I can help if you like.” Hope is so tantalizing, so close. But Cecil shakes his head with a sad smile and wipes away the tear with the sleeve of his jacket.

“I need to do this myself. I need to know what’s real and I need to be absolutely certain none of it comes from suggestion. My imagination suggests enough to make it difficult as it is.” He steps down the hall before turning back one last time. “Elephants,” he says with a puzzled expression. “It’s a strange thing to associate with someone, but somehow they remind me of you. I’ll figure this out,” he promises quietly before turning to leave Earl alone once again - though this time, he is desperately clinging to a newfound glimmer of hope.

Hope fades over the long years that follow, but every time it comes close to flickering out entirely there will be an unexpected word tucked carefully into the personals portion of the evening broadcast ( _‘violently blue’_ ) or a whispered recollection late at night that leaves Earl clinging to the phone long after the call has ended (‘ _it was raining_ ’). He stays busy with the scouts, tries to meet new people, but the few scattered memories keep him holding on, even after Cecil begins gushing about someone new who captures his interest and seems to keep it. Earl knows it’s futile to cling so desperately to a daydream, but something inside him doesn’t want to believe that years of memories can simply be forgotten. That the life they had never gotten to share could just vanish.

Hope doesn’t entirely abandon him until the night Cecil begins to share his memories of Europe over the radio. Earl listens to the voice he once loved so dearly paint beautiful pictures with brushstrokes that re-imagine the stories into a new brand of fantasy. There are bits of truth - the rolling down green hills, the sound of warm breaths echoing through the arches, the staring faces and the single moment at the bus stop that Cecil still insists had been beautiful. The memories are twisted nearly beyond recognition however; it’s this painful glimpse into Cecil’s distorted reality that confirms something Earl had slowly begun to suspect over the years. 

There had never been any real chance for his memory after all; the confusion, the separation, the mistrust, the promise of a nebulous ' _someday_ ’ they could never truly have - this was their punishment. Lie to the police, lose the thing you love the most. Compliant behavior has to be learned _somehow_ after all. 

The realization crushes the last of Earl’s hope, but replaces it with a strange mixture of pride and relief, and a sense of boldness he’s never allowed himself to act on before.

Cecil does not tell the full truth on the radio the day of the eternal scout ceremony. He recites Earl’s last words because last words are sacred and deserve to be remembered. But he does not tell the listeners that the words were once his own, now repeated tenderly and softly as a confirmation and sealed with a kiss. He doesn’t tell them that in response his lips had moved out of practiced instinct without any conscious thought. He doesn’t mention that the taste of dirt and the smell of campfire smoke stained the world sepia for the briefest moment - that suddenly he realized there have been traces of them all along, in every memory. He doesn’t talk about the diet soda pin Earl pressed into his hand as he turned to leave, or how it was the missing piece that finally shifted the fractured shards of memories into place, filling the gaps and clearing the residual haze. 

Cecil does not tell the radio that for the first time in a very long time, he doesn’t have to struggle to remember.  In fact, for the first time in a very long time, Cecil wishes he could forget.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this out as mostly scribbles a while ago, but I figured I would polish it up and share it for Earl Harlan week (because there can never be too much emotional pain caused by this character, really..) title from Anoushka's Shankar's song of the same name.


End file.
